Give It a Little Twang
by thejrush
Summary: Crack!fic. Brittany convinces Santana to go line dancing.
1. Saddle Up

D/C: You know the drill. Glee's not mine. I would pay handsomely to borrow Santana Lopez for an indefinite period of time, though...

A/N: In which I am still procrastinating. Crack!fic. This got out of control quickly, whoops.

* * *

><p>"Line dancing?"<p>

Brittany nods enthusiastically, beaming over the hood of Santana's car. She kicks one foot up, wiggling her sneaker.

"Cowboy boots and everything!" she squeals, returning her foot to solid ground and jumping up and down.

"Cowboys shoot other cowboys," Santana remarks, pretending to draw a gun from the waistband of her jeans.

"Cowboys make out with other cowboys," Brittany replies seriously. The spell is broken as she leans over the hood to leer at her best friend. She wiggles her eyebrows and hops up onto the hood.

"Brittany, get off of my car!" Santana shrieks, reaching out and yanking Brittany the rest of the way across the hood by her collar.

"_Ay dios mia_," Santana snaps, pushing Brittany aside to check for damage. Her palms are still flattened against the slick blue metal when Brittany playfully thrusts her hips against Santana's backside. Santana yelps and stands upright, whirling only to find herself caged between Brittany's thighs and the car.

"Pretty please," Brittany murmurs, her eyes hooded as she dips down to brush her lips against Santana's ear. Caught between groaning in arousal or terror, Santana shivers, pulling away quickly to check for spectators.

"It's really fun," Brittany presses. Santana's voice leaves her in a shrill gasp as Brittany's tongue flicks over her collarbone.

"Alright, I'll go!" she relents, pushing on Brittany's shoulders. "Now get in the car."

"But San..."

"Get in the car," she orders, her voice wobbling. Brittany pouts, but obeys. Her hands linger maddeningly on Santana's hips and they don't make it much farther than Santana's back seat.

* * *

><p>So that's how Santana Lopez ends up spending her Wednesday night at Main Street rec center in a nearly empty gym with Brittany, Mike, and a mattering of people aged ten to sixty-five. Brittany wasn't playing games-she sports a periwinkle blue cowboy hat, matching plaid button-up, and a pair of cut-offs so short it should be illegal. Santana catches herself ogling Brittany's lithe limbs more than once, and finally settles on watching the stragglers trickle into the room.<p>

"Are you ready? They're about to start the lessons."

Santana nearly jumps out of her skin when Brittany's voice sounds in her ear. Twining their hands together, Brittany drags Santana into the group gathered around their instructors. She almost holds back the snort when she sees April Rhodes' petite form in the center of the circle. Her teaching partner is vaguely familiar, but Santana can't remember his name.

"Welcome old faces and new," April trills. She instructs them to line up in rows of six, introducing herself and her companion as she moves students around briskly.

Santana snaps her fingers, placing the male instructor. Schuester's old classmate.

Bryan Ryan steps forward and claps his hands.

"We're going to start with a review," he announces. "Last week we learned 'Saddle Up.' We're gonna take it through nice and slow, then try it with the music."

Footwork has never been a problem for Santana Lopez. Her ability to learn routines at lightening speed was the primary reason she made the Cheerio squad freshman year. She picks up the moves on the first run through and misses doing handsprings.

When April takes over to teach the new dance, Santana can feel a smile form on her face. This is a pop song. She didn't know you could line dance to Katy Perry. She swings her head to find Brittany, beaming. Brittany's eyes are focused on April's feet, and her tongue pokes out the side of her mouth. Suppressing the nearly overwhelming urge to pounce on her best friend, Santana turns her attention back to dancing.

The class scatters when Bryan Ryan started fiddling with the cheap boom box in one corner of the room. Brittany drags Santana to the refreshment table and passes her a bottle of water.

"Look at that," Brittany says quietly, nodding over Santana's shoulder. Two older women with graying hair stand arm and arm talking to April. One is about six inches short than the other, a blonde and a brunette.

"It's us," whispers Brittany, giggling. She turns to say something to Mike, but Santana's eyes follow the couple as they head for the dance floor. A slower song fills the room, and Brittany passes Santana her water bottle. She grabs Mike by the wrist and drags him to the dance floor, clapping happily.

Brittany is all smiles and twirls, leaning over to whisper in Mike's ear periodically. A stab of jealousy jolts Santana where she stands.

Turning her attention to the other couples, she notices the elderly women dancing the same steps as the others in the room, but with each other. Santana blushes when she catches the brunette standing on tip-toe to sneak a kiss at the start of the chorus. She looks around quickly, but none of the other dancers seem to notice, they're either absorbed in their own partners or they don't care.

Santana's gaze finally comes to rest on Brittany and Mike again. He's laughing, guiding her through one last spin as the music stops.

"Okay kids, here's the one we just learned!" April cheers as the opening bars for "California Girl" blare from the tiny speakers. Brittany beckons Santana onto the dance floor.

"Told you this was fun," she says breathlessly. "You'll pick it up in no time."

* * *

><p>It's the next Monday when Santana finally manages to pry Mike away from Tina for a private word after Glee Club.<p>

"Relax, Corpse Bride," she says in the face of Tina's glare, "I'm not going to eat him. Because, ew...chicken feet salad?"

"I'll meet you in ten minutes at my locker," Mike says in a way that reminds Santana of a soldier bidding farewell to his loved ones.

"I'm really not going to do anything," she says dryly, watching Tina's retreating back. He still watches her warily when she checks the hallway outside of the glee room.

"I need you to teach me how to two-step," she says, shutting the door with a click. Mike simply stares.

"Hello? Jackie Chan, can you hear me?"

Startled, Mike rubs the nape of his neck. "I'm not really a line dancer. Brittany just dragged me along to have someone she knew there and I kind of liked it."

"You know how to two-step," Santana insists. "Teach me how to do it."

She pauses and bites her lip before invading Mike's personal space. He's too surprised to back away, which is good, because the next thing Santana says is barely audible.

"The...um...the guy part."

She rolls her eyes as waves of understanding wash Mike's face. He grins, but not meanly.

"I always thought it would be cool to know a gay girl," he says teasingly, "for the hot make-outs."

"Shut up, Mike," she sighs, covering her face.

"But I never thought one would ask me to teach her how to dance with her girlfriend."

"I said can it, Chang."

"I think it's adorable."

"Forget I said anything," Santana gripes, turning to leave. She feels Mike's hand on her elbow and turns.

"Tomorrow after Glee?" Mike suggests. Santana nods silently, hiking her bag higher on her shoulders.

"Thanks, Chang," she says, "I owe you."

"Be good to my dance partner, and we'll call it even."


	2. My Maria

A/N: I went to a Tim McGraw concert a few weeks ago! And I love me some country! Which means more of this nonsense. It's slightly more serious than the last. Also Delilah and Elya are all up in everyone's business. Because I love them.

* * *

><p>"Why is Sally here?" Santana asks, folding her arms in the middle of the rehearsal room and glaring at Tina. Mike reaches out and takes Tina's hand when she turns to go.<p>

"She's my assistant," he says sternly, "and you will be civilized. I would've asked Brittany but you wanted this all to be a surprise."

Santana snorts, but shuts her mouth. Smiling, Mike twirls Tina in his arms.

"This is called the 'Cowboy Cha Cha.' It's the first two-step Britt and I learned," he explains, reaching out to hit the boombox sitting on the piano. A mixture of guitar and bongo fill the small room, growing into a song she vaguely recognizes from the week before.

"It's 'My Maria,'" Mike interjects, seeing Santana struggling. "Pay attention."

Mike couldn't have picked a harder dance to start with, Santana thinks darkly. Firstly, the couple is standing one in front of the other instead of facing. His arm is draped casually over Tina's shoulder, which is a plus. There's lots of shuffling, turns, and even one part where Mike guides Tina behind his back. Santana watches their feet like a cat stalking a mouse, following behind them a few steps. The song plays through a second time, and Santana finally picks up the footwork.

"Once you learn the beats of the different dances you can pick one for just about any song," he says after a final whirl, wrapping his arms around his girlfriend from behind. Tina smiles up at him. He leans down to give her a gentle kiss, and for the first time in the history of dating Brittany, Santana wishes she was taller.

"Alright, Double C, let's give this a try," Santana says, hands on her hips. Tina shoots her boyfriend a nervous look, but he simply nods encouragingly.

"Usually I would press that you have to lead," Mike teases, pacing around them and adjusting their hands and stances, "but you're going to have no problem pushing someone else around."

Santana refuses to dignify the taunt with a response. She simply sets her jaw and stares straight ahead. Mike guides them through four cycles without the music, and by time number five impatience is rolling off Santana in waves. She wants to go faster to follow the beat of the music that isn't playing anymore.

"Alright," Mike says, stepping forward to stop them, "twice with the music and we'll call it for the day?"

Santana nods and she leads Tina around the room. It's harder than single dances, but Santana can feel her muscle memory beginning to take hold of the steps. Tina's hands are stiff and cold, and when Santana guides her through a turn, she shuffles sullenly.

When the music finally stops, Tina breaks away with a huff of relief. Mike reaches out to embrace her and murmur something in her ear.

"I'll meet you at the car," she says when they pull apart. She nods formally to Santana before heading for the door.

"Tina," Santana says suddenly, training her eyes on the door behind Tina's head. "Thanks. I know I'm kind of a bitch and I know you only did this for Mike. Just...thanks."

The speech coaxes a smile out of Tina before she ducks out of the room.

"Well, you managed to pick that up pretty fast," Mike starts, grinning. "A few more practices and you should be a pro."

* * *

><p>Brittany pulls Santana to a table near their elder doppelgangers a week and a half after Santana's first dance lesson with Mike.<p>

"Britt," Santana says uneasily when her girlfriend scoots as close to the women as possible while still sitting at their own table. Brittany either ignores her or doesn't hear. She gives Santana's hand a squeeze and leans over to the adjacent table.

"Hi, I'm Brittany!" she says brightly, waving at the two women. The taller one, the blonde with silver streaks around her brow, looks up. She raises an eyebrow, then nods once.

"Delilah," her shorter companion warns, "don't be standoffish. I'm Elizabeth, but please call me Elya. This is Delilah, and she's a grumpy old woman."

"Santana's grumpy sometimes, too," Brittany says cheerfully. Santana blushes and wriggles her hand out of Brittany's grip. Delilah is watching her like she's a criminal on trial. It's a relief when April breezes in with Bryan Ryan.

"Alright, class!" she says briskly, flashing all of her teeth in a grin. "This week: 'Copperhead Road!'"

Santana knows enough to dance along to two out of every five songs or so. When she's not dancing, she's avoiding Delilah, who prowls around her table trying to catch Santana's eye. A song comes on that nobody seems to know, so April and Bryan give their students a break.

Brittany takes Santana's hand and pulls her over to their table. Mike lounges against one of the chairs, chatting with Elya.

"Bryan is going to play 'My Maria' after the break," he says casually, watching Santana out of the corner of his eye. Santana blushes and looks down at her hands.

"That's my favorite," Elya sighs, leaning against Delilah's shoulder. Delilah's face softens, her hand coming up to massage the back of Elya's neck. Santana sneaks a look at Brittany and catches her staring. The blatant longing in the stare makes her chest tight with guilt.

The music starts again, and Mike locks eyes with Santana. She looks away, barely shaking her head. He sighs and stands, reaching for Brittany's hand.

"Come on, B," he says cheerfully. Brittany's smile returns so quickly it's as though she was never frowning. She jumps to her feet and follows Mike onto the dance floor.

"It's scary, isn't it?"

Santana jumps, finding Elya sitting in Brittany's seat. She looks over her shoulder to see Delilah twirling with Bryan on the dance floor.

"What...?"

"Taking that first step out."

Santana tries to look appalled or shocked, but Elya simply smiles and places her hand lightly upon the back of Santana's wrist, so all she manages is guilt.

"Lilah and I had some rough times, too," she says, nodding towards the woman on the dance floor. Her eyes are so saturated with adoration it makes Santana's chest ache.

"When we were your age, being gay out of the closet in a place like Lima was almost a death sentence."

Santana's mouth goes dry, and the moisture reappears on her palms. Hearing the word is like a blow to the stomach. It's one thing to say it herself, another thing entirely to hear someone else say it about her.

"I...I'm not-"

"Delilah wanted to knock some sense into you," Elya sighs, "but I reminded her how much fight it took to convince her to come out."

The only thing Santana manages to utter is a gulping stammered mess of vowels.

"All I'm trying to say is we'd be happy to listen if you need to talk," Elya explains, sliding a torn sheet of looseleaf paper across the table. "And we'd be happy to answer any questions you have."

Santana covers the paper with her had when their friends return at the end of the dance. Before she slips it into her pocket, she hazards a glance and sees an address for a shop in downtown.

* * *

><p>"Um...hello?" Santana asks, wandering through the door of <em>Cup of Poe<em>, the small cafe-slash-book shop owned by Elya and her partner.

"Be right with you!" a voice calls. Santana slinks around the shelves, inhaling the scent of banana nut muffins. She finds herself in front of the cafe counter. Delilah appears in the doorway from the kitchen. She narrows her eyes and studies the high school girl.

"What are you doing here?" she asks in genuine curiosity.

"I'm...ah...Elya said I could...if I wanted to talk to someone about..." Santana can feel tears welling up in her eyes. Her hands fly up to cover her face.

Delilah holds up her flour-caked hands to halt Santana's ramble. Stepping around the counter quickly, she guides Santana to a table.

"Sit," she orders. "I'll hunt Elya down."

Delilah shuffles back to the baked goods and leans over the countertop. When her hands hit the marble, something clicks, and Santana's eyes find a simple gold band on the woman's left ring finger.

"Ells," she calls, "we've got a stray."

"What?"

Elya's voice sounds from the kitchen.

"The budding gay child you spoke to last week is here."

Santana stirs uneasily in her seat, pretending she isn't in the room just like Delilah seems delighted to do. Delilah snags a handful of sugar cookies from the tray on the top of the counter and plunks them down on a napkin in front of Santana.

"Coffee or tea?" she asks, fiddling around with a machine behind the counter.

"I'm alright, thanks," Santana says softly, staring at her hands.

"Where's the piss and vinegar, Mexico?" Delilah teases, passing Santana a glass of hot chocolate anyways. Santana looks up and rolls her eyes.

"Puerto Rico, thanks," she replies dryly, warming her hands on the Styrofoam cup. Before she can sling an insult, Elya appears.

"What are you talking about 'budding gay children'?" she says, then catches sight of Santana. "Oh, hello Santana. We missed you this week at dancing."

"Yeah, well I got sick of Mike staring at me like I was killing puppies," Santana grumps, hunching her shoulders. "And I got into a fight with Britt."

"What about?" Elya asks, sinking into a seat.

"Same thing Mike's mad about," she mumbles, looking into the cup. She twirls her finger on the surface of the liquid. The swirls of foam form a perfect spiral before dissipating.

"Kiddo," Delilah starts roughly, "you've got to do what you've got to do. Don't let your friends pressure you into anything you're not ready to do. It's not their job to plan your life for you."

Elya reaches out and wraps her hand around Delilah's wrist.

"Lilah's best friend in high school outed her," she explains, curling her arm around Delilah's hips and pulling her closer. "We spent the summer after senior year hiding in my grandmother's basement until we could get out of Ohio for college. When we had to leave the house, my brother went with us just in case people from the high school saw us. I was lucky because my grandmother was very open-minded, and she raised my brother and I after our parents died."

"My parents sent Christmas cards every year until the day they died," Delilah interjects, "but they never spoke to me in person again. I wasn't prepared to lose them, and it took me five years to forgive my friend, even knowing that she didn't mean any harm when she outed me."

Elya squeezes Delilah's hand and looks down at her lap. Santana's eyes move from one woman to the other.

"It's good to have a place where you feel like you can be yourself," Elya says softly, "for yourself. Not for anyone else."

"If you are ever looking for a place, you can come here," Delilah says, earning a startled look from her partner. Santana shakes the lump from her throat and angles her chin upward, but her retort is silenced by Delilah's hard stare.

"Thanks," she mumbles.

* * *

><p>The next week finds Santana sitting at Elya and Delilah's table while she waits for her friends to arrive. Her head rests on her hands and her feet tap a merry jig on the linoleum.<p>

"Nobody here will judge you," Elya says. Delilah, in typical fashion, swats Santana's bouncing knees.

"You're shaking the whole table," she complains. Santana exhales slowly each time the door opens and the arrival isn't Brittany or Mike. Things at school have been awkward at best. She hasn't spoken to Brittany in a little over a week, and Mike is bordering on downright hostility. So Santana spent the two weeks between line dancing lessons in _Cup of Poe, _quizzing Elya on her childhood.

The two women never say it outright, but Santana comes to the realization that Delilah's best friend from high school was Elya. She couldn't imagine not speaking to Brittany for five years. Ten days is driving her nuts.

"Lopez," Delilah warns. Santana returns to reality and sheepishly stills her legs again. She drops her head to the table and sighs.

"Should we give her a sedative?" Elya asks. Santana turns her head to fix Elya with a dubious stare.

"Coach Sylvester says anything that slows you down is a sin," she says miserably.

"You'll be fine," Elya says with a smile. Santana lifts her head enough to rest her chin on her forearms so she can watch the door.

When Brittany finally arrives minutes before class starts, Santana's stomach leaps into her throat. She tries to avoid staring, but her eyes skip back to Brittany every few seconds.

"Don't be a chicken shit," Delilah says cheerfully, taking a swig of her coffee.

Santana sits idly at the table for the entire night. Mike keeps shooting her his confused frown, and whenever she looks up from talking to Elya, Santana catches Brittany turning away quickly.

"Next," Delilah says cryptically when she and Elya take their seats after "Boot Scootin' Boogie." Santana feels her pulse rushing against her throat. She stands and makes it to Mike and Brittany right as the first few notes of "My Maria" play through the speakers.

Brittany turns to the dance floor, reaching back for Mike's hand. Taking a deep breath that feels more like a desperate gasp, Santana intercepts Mike. Her hand falls on his chest and she looks up into his eyes, shaking her head. She catches Brittany's hand before she can realize Mike isn't following her.

Unable to keep the smirk from her face, she watches Brittany's face change from confusion to elation in the space of three seconds.

"Dance with me," Santana whispers, twining their fingers together. Brittany nods silently, and Santana marvels at the gentle surprise that passes over Brittany's face when she carefully guides her onto the floor. The only thing Santana really notices for the whole song is the piercing light in Brittany's eyes because Brittany never takes her gaze from Santana's face.

When the song comes to a close, Santana pulls Brittany to a stop and takes her hands. She places a gentle kiss on both of Brittany's palms.

"Do we have a song?" Brittany asks finally, wrinkling her nose.

"Not this one," Santana laughs. "This can be our first dance, though."

"What is our song then?"

"We'll figure it out later."


	3. It Happens

A/N: Because this fic always helps me get out of a writer's block. A little bit of angst in this one. Wot? Wot is that angst?

* * *

><p>Santana pushes open the door to <em>Cup of Poe<em> and drops her bag on the nearest table. She collapses into a seat, and buries her head in her arms.

"No moping," Elya teases from behind the counter, "your shift starts in five minutes."

"I'm not moping," Santana mumbles, "my life is over."

"What happened this time?" Elya asks. She takes a startled step backward when Santana looks up with red, swollen eyes.

"My life. Is over," Santana replies miserably, dropping her head onto the table again. Brow creased, Elya bustles out and flips the 'Out to Lunch' sign on the shop's door. She guides Santana into the back of the shop.

"Sit," she orders, pushing Santana onto one of the chairs in the break room. "What happened?"

Santana opens her mouth, but no words come to her. Delilah appears and pushes a cup of water into her hands and orders her to drink.

"Don't you have parents to feed and water you before you come to work?" Delilah sighs, shaking her head. This sets Santana off, and Elya glares at her partner over Santana's huddled form as the young girl begins to sob in earnest. She sinks onto the armrest and rubs Santana's back.

"It was a joke..."

"It wasn't funny, obviously," Elya snaps.

"One of my stupid friends outed me to the entire high school and now it's going to be on television," Santana blurts, interrupting their bickering. "I haven't told my parents yet, and now they're going to see it on TV."

Elya and Delilah fall silent, sharing horrified stares. Delilah drags a folding chair over and sits facing Santana.

"Santana, look at me."

Wearily, the young girl raises her head. Elya strokes her hair, and she has to fight back tears again.

"Explain."

"Finn Hudson outed me at school," Santana says shakily, "and some guy's daughter overheard and he's using me in his political ad. For all of Ohio. I haven't even told my parents yet."

Elya sucks in a breath, but Delilah simply looks murderous. The look they share is charged, making Santana shrink in on herself again.

"Santana," Elya says finally, "you aren't going to like this."

"I don't," Delilah interjects dryly. Elya presses onward as if Delilah hadn't spoken.

"It's better for your parents to hear it from you."

"She doesn't have to do it right now."

"They're going to kick me out," Santana interrupts.

"You can't know-"

"Then you can stay here," Delilah says with finality. Santana looks up in surprise. Delilah reaches out and gives Santana's arm a squeeze. Taking a deep breath, she opens her arms when the frail-looking cheerleader dives into her embrace. Elya smiles faintly and stands, placing light fingers on the back of Delilah's neck.

"I'm going to go out front and re-open the store," she murmurs. "Take your time, Santana."

Santana rocks back after a minute and peers into Delilah's face. The older woman is wiping her eyes, but meets Santana's gaze steadily.

"It sucks," she says simply. Santana nods tearfully.

"It's not the end of the world, though," Delilah continues. She manages a sly smile and gestures to the shop. "It gets better."

Santana grins weakly. The baker's coarse hands tuck the hair out of Santana's face.

"Kid, you're a mess," she teases. "Go wash up. You don't get paid unless you actually do work."

She digs a small container of makeup wipes from a drawer and passes them to Santana. Standing, she joins Elya in the front of the shop while Santana ducks into the small bathroom.

Elya leans against the counter, determinedly staring at an inventory sheet. Delilah coughs, and Elya looks up, smiling.

"Look at you," she says, nudging Delilah with her hip. "Softie."

Delilah smiles wryly. "That spitfire needs parental guidance."

"Makes you wish we had kids?"

"Nah," Delilah replies as Elya leans against her shoulder, "At least we can give her back."

"Soon...maybe not," Elya says soberly. Delilah sighs and rests her elbows on the counter.

"Maybe we've just been waiting around to take care of this kid. And she's been lashing out looking for people like us."

"Maybe," Elya replies, biting her lip, "Give her family a chance."

Delilah sighs. "So we'll be the safe house."

Elya reaches out blindly and takes Delilah's hand. "I'm sorry."

"I know," Delilah says gently, looping her arm around Elya's waist. She presses a kiss to Elya's temple with a murmured "I love you" before Santana reappears.

"Thanks," she mumbles awkwardly from the doorway. Her eyes are swollen, but the angry red blotches have faded from her cheeks.

"Any time, Columbia," Delilah quips. "Get to work."

Elya returns to her inventory sheet, pretending to ignore the shots Delilah and Santana fire back and forth across the shop.

* * *

><p>Santana wipes the counter before closing. Elya stocks shelves quietly in the book section while Delilah wraps dough for tomorrow's loaves of bread and covers the bowls of muffin batter. The bell on the door rings and Santana doesn't even have time to look up before Brittany leaps the counter and pulls her into an embrace.<p>

"I'm sorry it took me so long. I just got out of rehearsal," she whispers, "Kurt told me what happened."

Closing her eyes, Santana buries her head against Brittany's throat. Her girlfriend's stream of curses upon Finn Hudson is interrupted when Elya clears her throat. They break apart guiltily, but Brittany keeps a firm hold on Santana's hand, pulling their bodies close.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," Elya chuckles. Brittany ducks her head sheepishly, muttering about dance rehearsals for a recital to boost her resume.

"Is it wrong to let the air out of Finn's tires?" she asks innocently. "Not slash them, just...let the air out?"

"I will not advocate vandalism in my shop," Elya replies, holding her hands up. "See you tomorrow, Santana?"

"I hope so," Santana sighs. "I might be late. I have to tell my parents before this commercial airs or they will kill me."

"Well whatever's left of you can help me do a real inventory check," Elya says briskly. "Now scram. I want to have a quiet dinner with my wife."

Santana pulls her apron off and hangs it behind the counter. She stoops to retrieve her book bag and slings it over her shoulder.

"Thanks," she says. "See you tomorrow."

Brittany laces their fingers as they leave the shop. "Mike dropped me off on his way home. Can I catch a ride?"

"It's the least I can do, Madame Future President," Santana says. Brittany swings their joined hands and sighs.

"I'm glad you're not hiding yourself anymore, San," she says softly, "but I wish it didn't have to happen this way."

"Me too, B."

"Kurt said he was going to dye all of Finn's socks pink."

Santana laughs and bounces onto her tiptoes to kiss Brittany's cheek. Brittany stops her and turns her head for a real kiss. The kiss turns into a desperate, needy embrace that forces them against Santana's car.

"I can't do this without you," Santana whispers fiercely against Brittany's collarbone.

"You don't have to."

* * *

><p>The next morning finds them tangled in Brittany's sheets. Santana reaches out for her phone before it shakes itself off the nightstand.<p>

"B, wake up," she croaks, pressing a kiss to Brittany's forehead. Brittany mumbles and opens one eye.

"Why is your alarm going off on a Saturday?" she asks.

"We have practice," Santana replies, kissing Brittany's nose. "And then you have to help me come up with a coming out speech for Mom and Papi."

"Practice isn't until noon."

"It's eleven-fifteen," Santana says, "come on."

"Mmmphh."

Santana traces Brittany's jaw with her tongue.

"If you do not get up, I will not finish what I am starting," she threatens, sucking gently on the hollow of Brittany's throat. Shivering, Brittany closes her eyes. Santana's lips move to her collarbone while her hand dips between their bodies.

"Ah, no fair," Brittany gasps, her body arching into the touch. Smiling wickedly, Santana pulls back.

"Get up," she insists. Brittany growls, opening her eyes to glare at her girlfriend. Giggling, Santana keeps her word while Brittany muffles herself with a pillow.

* * *

><p>AN: I think I've resigned myself to the fact that this has to come to an end before I can move on to the next thing. Those of you waiting for The Hardest Year, my deepest and sincerest apologies. Please bear with me for two or three more chapters of this.


End file.
